


Did You Forget Lafayette?

by Ammc12



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Lafayette, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Other, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-05-20 01:28:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 17,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5987497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ammc12/pseuds/Ammc12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a spy/secret agent au. </p><p>"Did you forget Lafayette?"<br/>"No, I haven't forgotten. Perhaps you have; Lafayette is dead."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Their Hour of Need

Alex remembered it every day. 

He remembered their screams.

They had cried out, a broken noise, blood coating the floor, pooling out in a puddle. 

He remembered their eyes. 

They were filled with anguish, pain swimming in the pools.

He remembered the look on their face. 

It was so vivid; betrayal. 

It was a simple mission. Get in, get out. But it had all had gone so wrong. The men had swarmed in the room, surrounding the agents. He didn't remember that part as clearly as the rest. 

Alex and Lafayette were leading the mission. They had needed to break into the building the group, the Kings Army, as they annoyingly called themselves, were stationed in and capture their leader. They had been so careful. Everything was perfect. And yet, somehow, they knew. The ringleader wasn't even there, and the terrorists had ambushed the team in the room. Twenty five agents were in the room and twenty five were stationed around the building. It was an absolute bloodbath. 

He didn't know who shot first, nor did he care. All he knew was that in seconds, half his agents were dead and the rest were retreating at his order. And Lafayette was on the floor, two bullets in their chest, gasping for breath, coughing up blood. Their hands were clawing the ground, desperately trying to do something, to try to escape, to find some release of pain. Blood was trickling out of their mouth and down their face. Their clothes were rapidly staining red, the wounds blossoming out in a bloody, crimson flower. 

He knew the options. Stay and help Lafayette, getting countless more agents killed and possibly himself in a massacre, or leave, saving countless lives but abandoning Lafayette for death to take. And one month later, Alex was still convinced he had made the completely wrong decision. He left. 

Betrayal was clearly painted on Lafayette's face as Alex turned his back to them, sprinting out the door with the other agents, bullets whizzing through the air. Maybe he didn't see me, Lafayette thought. Maybe he thought I was already out. Maybe he thought I was safe. But no, they had seen Alex. They had locked gazes with him, time in a standstill, the only sound the beating of their heart, and he had left Lafayette to die. Still, they had thought. Maybe they imagined it. But then Alex had turned around, giving one last glance to his friend, to his love, and he had bolted out the door. And the pain Lafayette felt from the bullets was nothing compared to the feeling of seeing Alex leave. 

 

Alex had never told anyone what really happened. He said he had watched as Lafayette got shot in the head, that they had died right in front of him, blood and brains getting blown out of their skull. Because in his mind, it didn't make a difference. He had left Lafayette and they were most certainly dead. And if they weren't from the bullets, the Kings Army would have killed them when they collected the dead bodies from their old hideout. So Alex kept the secret to himself, living with the regret and guilt every day, the horrid feeling slowly eating away at him. 

At the funeral for Lafayette, Alex must have cried an ocean. Hercules and John had showered him with comfort, saying that it wasn't his fault. It hadn't helped. It just made things worse. Because he knew that it was most certainly, definitely his fault. 

No one questioned what had happened to Lafayette. Alex would never lie about that, everyone knew he loved them unconditionally. And Alex was certainly upset enough to make the lie all but too truthful. The only person who questioned Alex's story was Thomas. Thomas Jefferson.

For one reason or another, Jefferson refused to believe Lafayette was dead. It terrified Alex to no end. He was horrified someone would discover the truth, and it seemed that Thomas already knew it, somehow. Alex was slowly going insane, his mind and soul chipping away from guilt. He was going to therapy, but he wasn't telling the doctor the truth, he couldn't, so it didn't help at all. He couldn't talk to anyone about it. No one knew his secret. 

Alex knew he was going to fall off the cliff soon. He knew he was going to snap. And then everyone would know the truth. He needed to tell someone. He couldn't tell John or Hercules, out of the absolute, crushing fear of being rejected. They loved Lafayette just as much as he had; they would be absolutely furious and would never forgive him. He couldn't tell any of the Schuyler sisters without the other two knowing, and Angelica would probably kill him. Literally. Jefferson was completely out of the question, which left just one plausible person left. 

Which is what led to a trembling Hamilton, skin shiny with sweat, standing outside Washington's office. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on this post.  
> http://hamiltonprompts.tumblr.com/post/134195232001/spysecret-agents-au-something-with-did-you


	2. Getting it off Your Chest

Hamilton rapped on the door with white knuckles, hands rough and dry after kneading them with worry for hours on end. "Come in," said Washington, voice stern and collected. Alex licked his lips nervously before opening the door and stepping into the office. 

Washington barely looked up from his desk when Alex entered, glancing up before going back to his paperwork. "Hamilton," he greeted, gesturing to the seat in front of the desk with one hand, the other continuing to work. Hesitantly, Alex walked inside, closing the door behind him, shoes muffled by the carpet. He sat down quietly in his seat, head bowed slightly, staring at the desk, instead of Washington himself. Unlike usually, Alex remained silent. He waited until Washington concluded his work.

When Washington finished the paper he was on, he stopped his movement and looked up at Alexander, giving him his attention. "I don't think I've ever heard you this quiet," he said. "Or seen you this nervous." Alex smiled uneasily, feeling sick to his stomach. "What is it you need?" Washington asked kindly. Alex breathed in deeply and let out a slow breath before looking up at Washington.

"Sir, I have... a confession to make," he started. Washington frowned.

"Alexander, I swear, if you got in another fight with Jefferson..."

"No! No, sir, it's not that," he interrupted. "It's... it's about... Lafayette." Washington's eyes widened. He nodded, as if to say go on. "Before I say it, I just... you're probably going to hate me and I'm sorry in advance and I just can't keep doing this!" he let out, words somewhat slurred together in quick dialogue. 

"Alexander, take a deep breath," Washington instructed calmly. Alex did as told. "Now let it out slowly." Alex breathed out, though it was more of a short, nervous huff, than a relaxed, calming breath. "Now continue."

"Here's the thing, sir, Lafayette... they, they were never, I mean, I didn't actually see them..." he paused. "They were never actually shot in the head, they were shot in the chest twice and they were on the ground bleeding and everyone else would have died if I helped them and I left and oh god I left them to die and it's all my fucking fault!" he cried out, all in one breath. 

Washington was still. Incredibly still. The only sounds were the huffs of Alex's breath. Washington's neck bobbed as he swallowed. 

"I see," he finally said. Alex let out an exasperated breath.

"That's all you have to say?" he said, voice growing in volume. "This has been eating away at me for a month! I've been absolutely terrified about telling someone any of it! And you say 'I see'?" 

"Alexander, lower your voice." Alexander mumbled an apology, not sorry at all.

"The way I see it, Alexander, is that even if you did help them, the outcome would have been the same. They would have died, except you and many more would have, as well. You made the right decision, and I admire and respect you for that. I know it doesn't make it any less harder to deal with, but you did the right thing." Alexander looked at Washington incredulously.  He was fully expecting rage, screaming, not to be consoled. 

"Are you serious, sir?" Alex asked. 

"Completely," Washington responded. "I'll admit, I don't know why you didn't tell everyone from the beginning." Alex's look on his face was priceless and Washington wished he could take a picture.  Now, why don't you use your miraculous writing skills and send out a message to the staff. I will, too."

Alex nodded dumbly, the confused look on his face deepening. He remained still. "Alright, now why don't you go do that, Alexander." He nodded again.

"Alright, sir," he breathed out, standing up slowly as Washington resumed his work. He walked slowly to the door, trying to collect himself. His face was hot and flushed from nervousness and embarrassment and his palms were sweaty on the door handle. His heart was thumping in his chest sporadically, as if he just ran a marathon. 

When he was halfway out the door, he halted suddenly. He turned his head around. "Sir?" he called. Washington looked up again at Hamilton's face, which was blushing heavily. "Thank you," he choked out before quickly rushing out and closing the door with a small slam. 

Washington smiled fondly before turning his head back down to work. However, he couldn't get the thought out of his head. He knows it's near impossible, that it's absolutely crazy. The Kings Army surely would have killed them if they hadn't already died. And if they were taken prisoner, they would have refused to give information, (Washington knows this for a fact), and they would have been killed. But he still can't help think that it might be possible. 

What if, after all this time, Lafayette is alive?


	3. The Kings Army

Lafayette stared up at the ceiling, mold and mildew creeping in on the edges, splotchy blotches spotting the old material. Their chest was rising and falling shallowly as they took in shuddery breaths, every action causing fiery pain to shoot from their chest. Their brain was shouting in pain, their body crying out in agony. Their mouth, however, seemed to have ran out of screams, instead resorting to small, wheezing gasps that did nothing to relieve them of any level of pain.

They were acutely aware of the wetness on their front, no doubt blood, that was increasingly spreading over fabric, and the growing, crimson puddle around them that they could see out of the corner of their eye. Lafayette knew that they should move, at least make some attempt at escape, to give Alexander an angry talking to, and perhaps a punch to his face, as well. But they were so tired. 

Instead, they closed their eyes, darkness surrounding them. They pictured their last vision of Alex, hurt splayed out across his features. They knew that he was sorry. It was written all over his face. And yet, he still left, leaving Lafayette with a burning betrayal inside of them, great enough to match the pain of the bullet wounds. Lafayette didn't know what to feel about it, didn't know what to think. Their thoughts were muddled in his head, thick like a fog over swampy mud.

Washington had once said, "Dying is easy, living is harder." He, Lafayette decided, was most certainly correct. Dying was utterly, undoubtedly easier. So they thought about the sweet release of death and how welcomed it would be. 

Come gather your fee, death. You've earned it, and so has your prey. Hurry now, before the injured fly gets away. 

When they heard people marching into the room, swatting away the spider called death, preventing it from gathering the trapped fly, they didn't move, just laid there silently, for they were stuck in the web of fate.

"If any are alive, tell me," said a voice in a drawling British accent, haughty and vain. They inwardly grimaced at the words. 

They heard shuffling. They still didn't move, looking dead. If only no one was checking. When they felt two cold fingers press against his neck, they lazily opened their eyes. They flitted over to the man checking their ever present pulse. His face was plain and stony with heavy wrinkles and a stubbly beard. Nothing was noticeable about him except for the wrongness he's done in this world that was so plainly present in his eyes. "Sir," the man said, standing up. "This one is alive."

"Oh?" the person, undoubtedly their leader, asked. Soft steps made their way towards them, a body coming into view, towering above them. He had a youngish face, perhaps about thirty or so, and an extravagant red, gold and white suit with black pants. He had a hideously annoying royal air around him, holding a scepter like a goddamn king. His back was straight and he held himself prim and proper.

"What would you like us to do, sir?" the previous man asked. The leader continued to stare down at them. His face was stoic. His eyes were that of a killer. Of a murderer. 

"Clean him up," he said abruptly. "And then, bring him to me." He used incorrect pronouns, but that was something far from Lafayette's mind at the moment. 

"Yes, sir," he said. The leader smiled. It was a disgustingly disturbing grin, like a wolf smiling sickeningly at its meal. It made Lafayette's stomach churn. The ringleader then exited their view, reeling around on his heels and walking out. If he were wearing a cape, it would have been flying in the air from his exit. Blood would have stained the end and it would have sprayed when he turned, showering his victims with their own blood.

Hands were then roughly grabbing them, heaving them up into the air, and carrying them to who knows where. The grips on them were hard and strong, nearly enough force to give them bruises. It was an undesirable encounter, however the pain from this was a mere prick of a pin compared to the previous wounds. 

They grunted as they were plopped down on something hard and horribly cushioned, though they could feel thin pads on it. Straps were secured around them, on what they realized was a stretcher, and tightened, preventing much movement. It wasn't necessary. They weren't going to be moving, anyways. Escape was near impossible in their condition. Plus, now they were surrounded by enemies. Even if they did somehow manage to get out of the stretcher and away from the men, more would retrieve them before they could even take a single step

They jostled as they began moving. They could hear voices as blurred images passed by their vision. Hazy people clouded their view, pink lips strewn on fuzzy faces, dark holes for eyes. Their thoughts floated in and out of focus, drifting between static noises and faded pictures. They weren't quite sure what was happening anymore. However, they did know they were now outside and they could feel themselves being lifted, still on the stretcher. A loud roar was deafening, but at the same time, it seemed so far away. People were shouting around them. Why were they shouting? they wondered deliriously. 

Alex always shouted. Maybe it was him, they thought hopefully, yelling at Jefferson for something or other. Maybe Hercules and John were with him, ready to hold them close, ready to comfort them. They could feel the warmth of their embrace around him, the sounds of them murmuring words of comfort. They were showering them with kisses and nuzzling against them, all bright eyes and smiles. And then they were gone. Because that was just a hopeful dream of a lost, scared child.  

Pain was still pulsing through their body, but it now was slipping away, as was everything else. Noise became like a distant memory and their vision was slowly turning black. "He's blacking out," someone said, but they didn't hear them. All they were aware of was the darkness that was reaching out to them like a comforting friend, pulling them into its strangling embrace.  

 

When Lafayette woke, they had no time at all to collect themselves. For the second their eyes shot open, men were barking orders at each other and roughly pulling Lafayette up from an uncomfortable cot, despite the sounds of protest from their aching wounds, which made sure they were heard by escaping through their mouth. The men paid their cries of pain no indication whatsoever, and simply continued pulling them to their feet. They were all but dragged down a couple different hallways, all looking incredibly identical. The floor was hard and white, unbearably clean and shiny, and the walls were grayish with a blue tint. They passed dozens of doors, all light brown wood. All in all, it looked like a boring office building. 

One man was on each side of them, holding their arms firmly, continuing to pull them along, even when they stumbled with pretty much every step. They weren't even walking, really. Eventually, Lafayette just gave up and stopped trying to shuffle their feet, instead letting their captors drag them. Three men were in front of them, shoulder to shoulder, and three behind, successfully blocking any escape access. None of them talked and none made any expression.

Lafayette tried to remain silent as they marched them down the passageways, but it was hard to hold back grunts of pain. They didn't have time to look themselves over, but upon inspection, they realized their wounds were taken care of, white bandages heavily wrapped around their torso. That didn't mean that they hurt any less, though. 

Their vision was clouded by pain, and they blinked, constantly trying to clear their befuddled head and vision. It didn't help much. Sterile lights hanging from above were blinding on their eyes and the small electric buzz they made was thundering. 

The men finally halted at the end of a hallway, after what could have been a minute or ten, they weren't sure. The man in the front line, middle, knocked on the door they stopped at. There was nothing special about it, it looked just like the others they passed.

"Sir, we have the prisoner," the man said, voice low. There was a moment of silence.

"Bring him in," the English accent demanded. The door was opened and Lafayette was pretty much hurled inside. They couldn't hold back a yelp of pain.

The room was large. An enormous desk was in the middle, made of expensive looking wood with designs engraved in it, so shiny you could probably see your reflection. The surface was neat, with pencils and pens lying side by side, all perfectly straight. His scepter was laying on one side of the table, looking perfectly at home. There was a stack of papers and a computer, and some trinkets, including a glass paperweight, a small, golden crown, decorated ornately with jewels, and a fancy china teacup on a saucer.

Behind the desk was shelves in the wall with a glass door covering, several books behind the case. Red and gold carpet was on the floor, covering the whole room, and the walls were a dark, brown wood. Puffy chairs were on both sides of the room against the walls, and one was placed in front of the desk. There was a chandelier,  _a freaking chandelier,_ hanging from the tall ceiling, casting an orangey hue of light. 

And behind the desk sat the ruler. His legs were crossed and he was sitting in his chair at an angle, looking completely relaxed and casual. It irked Lafayette to no end. 

"Set him down there," he said, flicking his wrist towards the chair. The men walked Lafayette over, their feet lagging against the carpet, and basically flung them into the chair, plush and soft. "Leave us." They saw the men nod and turn around, orderly marching out the door. They heard the click of the door as it closed. The man straightened himself in his chair. He picked up the cup of tea from his desk and took a long sip. "My name is George the Third," he announced.

Lafayette didn't move or say anything. They just sat there, taking short, shallow gasps of pain. George was looking at them expectantly. After a moment or so, he made a tsk on his tongue. "How rude. Didn't your mother ever teach you your manners? Now, you introduce yourself to me." Lafayette still didn't say anything. "What is your name?" he said loudly, his voice booming around the room. Lafayette swallowed but remained silent. 

George stood up, slowly circling around his desk and waltzing up to the chair. He leaned down so that his mouth was by their ear. Lafayette could feel his breath ghosting over their face, making them instinctively shudder. "Tell me your name, or I will kill you," he said slowly with fake sweetness. Lafayette stared straight ahead. They let out a shaky breath. 

"Lafayette," they murmured quietly, voice raspy and hoarse from not speaking. George didn't move. 

"First and last name," he breathed. Lafayette sighed and cleared their throat.

"Are you asking for my full title?" they asked, accent thick, voice clear. George's eyes widened. 

"You're French," he stated, air blowing over their face. "Yes, tell me your full title." He stepped away from Lafayette and straightened himself up tall, adjusting his clothes. Lafayette licked their lips, dry and nervous. 

"Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de La Fayette, Marquis de La Fayette," they said meekly. George chuckled. 

"My, that is a mouthful," he said, strolling around the chair Lafayette sat in. "So, Lafayette," he said, drawing out the name on their lips. "What can you tell me about the Revolutionaries, as you like to call yourselves." 

"Nothing," they said firmly. 

"Nothing," George repeated. "Well, I intend for you to tell me something."

"And I intend to tell you nothing," Lafayette said coolly. George let out a harsh laugh. 

"Now, aren't we in a bind?" George stopped walking in front of Lafayette, smiling down at him. "Samuel!" he shouted. Lafayette heard the door open. 

"Sir?"

"Take our guest to his room. Begin with him immediately. Don't scar him up a lot and leave his face," he ordered. Lafayette's stomach dropped. They heard footsteps and felt a cold hand on their shoulder. 

"With pleasure, sir." 

If you listened carefully, in between the sounds of a harsh struggle from Lafayette, you could hear the sound of their hope crumbling to pieces and falling to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks to everyone who's reading this. Hopefully some of you like it. I know the story isn't great so far, but I'm working to make it better. I don't know how often I'm going to update, but I plan to at least once a week or more.


	4. Now They Know

 The glass mug fell to the floor, shattering on impact, hot coffee and glass shards scattering with a crash. "What?" Hercules managed to choke out after a couple extremely tense seconds of silence. Thank god John wasn't also holding a cup, or it surely would have been dropped along with the other. Alex swallowed. 

"You know what I said, Hercules," he muttered. Hercules just stood there, mouth opened in surprise, eyes wide. John was speechless, following in Hercules's example. 

"Alexander," Hercules croaked. "Why would you do this?"

"Everyone else would have died if I stayed, I didn't..."

"Not that!" Hercules interrupted. He opens his mouth to speak but closes. He turns his head to the side and rubs the back of his head, eyes flitting around the room, looking at anything but Alexander. When Hercules finally meets Alex's eyes, his face is the definition of hurt. "Why wouldn't you tell us right away? Why would you lie to us?" he asked, voice cracking. 

Alex's eyes were watery, shiny with unshed tears. "I was afraid you would hate me," he admits pathetically. "I thought you would abandon me..."

"Just like you abandoned Lafayette?" Hercules said, cutting into his confession. Wetness was growing in Alex's eyes. 

"I thought you would leave me," he said in a breaking voice, expression like a hurt puppy. 

"We would never do that, Alex," John intervenes, eyes a fury of different emotions. "We feel betrayed that you didn't trust us enough to tell the truth."

"And now there's a chance Lafayette's alive," Mulligan said angrily. "Why wouldn't you tell us, we could have saved them!"

"How?" Alex asks, voice rising in volume. "How would we have done that? We have absolutely  _no idea_ where the Kings Army even is! And you know just as well as I do that if they were taken captive, they wouldn't have told them anything! You know what they do with uncooperative prisoners?" Alex was practically screaming now. "They kill them!" 

Alex's and Hercules's faces were extremely close together, both of them glaring at the other, eyes narrowed. John carefully took a step forward, avoiding the broken mug and spilled coffee. He placed a hand on Alex's shoulder and gently pulled them back from Hercules. 

What Alex said was true. It wouldn't had made a difference if he had told them or not. But he should've at least told them the truth, for crying out loud, they're his boyfriends and Lafayette was their partner, too, not just Alex's. He tried to imagine what he would have done in Alex's position. He liked to think he would have told the truth, but rejection is a reasonable fear. He bit his bottom lip, eyes dancing around the room for a moment. Sighing, he looked back up. 

"I think it would do us all well if we looked at this reasonably," he said calmly. Hercules shot him an "are you serious?" look, eyes still on fire with rage. "Hercules," John started. "If I were in Alex's position, I believe I would have done the same thing." The look on Hercules's face deepened. "I would fear rejection, too. That's a strong enough motive to lie, especially if it doesn't make a difference wether or not you tell the truth." 

Hercules didn't know what to say. It made sense, why Alex lied, but still. 

At first, he had felt shocked, followed by a fiery rage, paralleled by nothing. Now, he just felt... he didn't know. Sad, maybe? He didn't know what to feel. Should he feel angry? He did, but that madness seemed to have been extinguished, replaced with smoldering ashes, unsure if they should relight or stay doused. 

"I know this probably doesn't help," Alex cut into the silence quietly, voice barely above a whisper, eyes downcast. "But I'm sorry, I truly am," he said softly. "I know I should have told you. Hell, there was a funeral and I didn't say anything. I just... was terrified." He sighed. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I'm the biggest idiot in the world and I don't deserve you two." His head was bowed, but Hercules and John were pretty sure he was crying. "I didn't deserve Lafayette," he mumbled at the end. 

"Goddamn it," Hercules mumbled under his breath. Alex looked up, water staining his face in streaks, tears running down his cheeks. "Alex, I," he started. He swallowed and shook his head a little, scratching the back of it. "I'm not mad. I was, just cause' this is a pretty big shock. But I probably would've done the same." 

Alex let out a choked, strangled sob, a fresh wave of tears overflowing in his eyes and cascading down his face. "I'm sorry," he said again, eyes puffy. "I'm so sorry." He was hysterical, vision blurry from tears, eyes red, sniffing every two seconds, shaking like a fragile leaf in a cold, autumn wind. Arms were wrapping around him, yet the trembling didn't cease. Small, choking noises were ripped from his throat as he was held, sobs wracking his frame. His head hurt, a sharp pain ringing through it. But it didn't matter. Because John and Hercules didn't hate him and were holding him close, three different hearts perfectly in synch. If only they could find the fourth.

 

The door opened and slammed against the wall with a bang. Washington looked up, surprised, only to see Thomas Jefferson, a triumphant look on his smug face. "I knew it!" Jefferson yelled. Washington sighed and directed his attention away from his computer and onto Thomas. "I knew Hamilton was lying, I knew it! And he finally admitted to it!" 

"Thomas, what exactly do you need?" Washington asked, exasperated. 

"Sir, there's a chance Lafayette is still alive," Thomas said.

"I'm well aware of this."

"We need to rescue them, sir, they're one of us. We can't just abandon them like Hamilton," Jefferson explained. 

"Thomas, there's a very slim chance that Lafayette is alive," Washington said, rubbing his temple tiredly. "And we don't even know where the Kings Army is."

"I know, sir, but we're very close to finding out."

"What are you suggesting?" 

"All I'm saying is that once we discover their location, we need to get Lafayette back."

"Jefferson, that would require risking the lives of..."

"I know, sir, I know. Please consider it, that's all I'm asking. They're alive, I'm certain of it," he said. 

"How are you so certain?" Washington questioned. 

"Because Lafayette's smart. They would have found a way to avoid death. They wouldn't have died of the bullets, they're too resilient, so they would have been taken. However, they would stay alive. They're brilliant, you know this as well as I do, sir," Jefferson reasoned. 

"Thomas, do you actually believe we can do this, or are you just determined to prove Hamilton wrong?" Washington asked thoughtfully. Thomas smirked. 

"I don't see why I can't do both."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next chapter is going to be about Lafayette.


	5. Stay Alive

Pain coursed through their body, throbbing through their flesh. Lafayette craned their neck, muscles spasming, veins pulsing. Their heart was beating rapidly, teeth clenched. Fingers were flexed, grasping at open air. Their movements were jerky, like a marionette puppet, except instead of strings, they were hanging limply from chains.

Another cry was ripped from their throat, loud and strangled. 

"It's not a lethal dose," Samuel had said, holding the syringe with a smile in front of a broken Lafayette. "But it causes extreme agony." It had then been carefully injected into their arm, the venom quickly making its way into their blood, inflicting an immeasurable amount of pain. 

Eyes were squeezed shut, face scrunched up. They threw their head back, body convulsing, trying to do something,  _anything,_ to take away some pain, even just the tiniest bit. It didn't help. Nothing did. All they could do was handle it.

It felt like there were ten thousand needles inside their body, all pushing down, stabbing everything they could touch. They gasped for breath, their lungs on fire. Their flesh burned like a thousand scorching suns, all with searing hot blades soaked in fire, cutting and jabbing at everything with glee.

Every second lasted an hour, every minute was like an eternity. And there was nothing they could do. 

Lafayette tried to think of something happy, something to distract them. But they couldn't think. They couldn't see. They couldn't move. They couldn't  _breathe._

They were choking on air, invisible water filling their lungs. A coppery, metallic taste filled their mouth, liquid pooling out of their tongue, spilling out of their mouth and down their face, red blood streaking down their chin. 

Dots spotted their vision like needles, pricking their eyes, the black spots blooming into dark flowers, tangled thorns creeping over their eyes. Everything slowly started to turn dark, the stems blocking the light, wrapping around their neck to suffocate them, thorns shoving deeper into their skin. They were trapped, that was clear, in a bramble of deadly roses, capturing them in their enclosure of night. And then it was just them and the pain. 

 

There was... a face. Smiling and warm. Who were they? Lafayette wondered. They were so far away, distant and faded like a memory. Lafayette tried to reach out for them. However, they soon found that they couldn't move; they were immobilized. They heard laughter, musical and happy. There were more faces. Two, to be exact. Gentle voices coaxed them forwards, but they still couldn't move. 

The voices continued to call Lafayette forwards, ever so kind and soft, like a fuzzy quilt that you just can't help but wrap up in. They tried, they really did. Despite their struggling efforts, however, they were still rendered paralyzed. 

Peaceful voices kept ushering them, tantalizing. They were still trying to move, yet they were anchored down. The bodies became faded, more distant, their words softer. Lafayette tried to call to them, but no sound came out.

They were slipping away, like sand through their fingers. And just like that, they were gone, the tiny grains of sand fell into the black ocean, getting lost in a sea of nothingness.

 

Everything hurt. Their whole body ached like hell. Lafayette heard something, like the jangle of a key. It reminded them of when John would carelessly throw his keys on the kitchen counter on late nights before running over to Lafayette and kissing them sweetly, cupping their face with his hands, soothingly caressing their cheeks with his thumbs. He showered their face with little kisses, tickling their skin like butterflies, making them giggle. A small burst of joy surged through them.

That short happiness was quickly extinguished, however, when one chain from above fell, hitting the arm it was attached to as it fell. Lafayette yelped as they collapsed halfway, now held up only by one chain, which was quickly unlocked, too, causing them to crumple to the ground stained with their own blood. 

They attempted to stand, a valiant attempt, no doubt, pushing themselves up with their arms, but quickly fell to the ground, limbs buckling beneath them. Breaths were labored, coming in hollow gasps, as they lay in the cell, dank and musty, with bloodstains old and new, the scent of blood filling their nose. Stone walls were cracked and dim lights flickered overhead.

"Come, now," said Samuel. Lafayette had grown to loathe his voice with a passion, the British lilt making them want to punch him in his pompous face. If only they had the strength. "The King wants you to be cleaned up." That was another thing. The people here always referred to George the Third as "the King". Their voices always surged with pride when they spoke of him, like he was a God bestowed with almighty power, correcting the wrong in the world with everything he said or did, regardless of how many he's killed. Corrupted, that's what they were. All of them. Lafayette hated it. 

Another needle was stabbed into their arm. "That should kick in in a minute or so. Get him to the room quickly," he said. They understood the words, knew that it was a cure for the poison, but couldn't do much, pain bursting through their body. They let out a low groan.

Someone picked up their shaking frame from the ground and carried them out into the hallway. They did little to struggle, besides weakly thrashing their body in protest, and the man easily stopped them, for their body was wracked with tremors and waves of nauseating pain. Their hands were twitching as they hung limply in the air, limbs jerking unsteadily, violently, the venom still taking its toll. Eyes were squeezed shut from pain as the man walked. 

A creaking sound emitted as a door was opened and the guard and stepped into the room, still roughly holding Lafayette. They didn't quite know what was happening, eyes still closed, but they knew the cruel pressure was released from their body and they were set down, presumably in a chair. They clenched their hands together in fists, nails digging into their palms. 

Teasingly slow, the pain started to dissolve, allowing them to begin to catch their breath. Clean air flooded their lungs and they slowly began to relax, taking deep breaths, eyes still closed, allowing the sense of darkness, now calming and soothing like a starry night sky, to overtake them.

The first thing Lafayette notices is that it smells like roses. It's a sugary, floral scent, a starch contrast to the stench of blood that still remained in their nostrils. Those two smells, they decide, go horridly together. They breathe in more, the smell of iron being replaced by the sickly sweet flowery one. It makes them want to gag in repulsion.

It's warm, that's the other thing they realize. They can practically feel thick steam rolling off their skin, inhaling the warm mist into their lungs.

They flexed their fingers experimentally and stretch their joints, loosening them from the pain that had overtook their body. It still hurt, but it was much less extreme, and it just kept dimming. Of course, they also still hurt from previous "sessions." They cringed at the memory.

Opening their eyes, they blinked, the sudden brightness overwhelming. When their vision cleared, they saw... marble. Lots of marble. There was a sink, engraved in marble, an absolutely  _enormous_ bathtub made out of the stone, steam evaporation from the surface, and small shelves and designs carved expertly out the the walls, small, green plants adorning them decoratively. Everything seemed to be lined with gold and tall, white pillars rose to the ceiling. Why there were pillars in a bathroom was beyond them.

They were sat in a small, cushioned seat pressed up against the far wall, not quite sure what to do. The calming, spa-like atmosphere was doing the complete opposite, unsettling their nerves. Their eyes flitted around nervously at the unnerving tingling sensation, the strong, overwhelming rose smell making them sick to their stomach.

A noise the door made caused them to jump, the action causing a river of pain to wash through their body. Four people filed into the room, all standing tall, walking quickly. They weren't agents, they didn't have on the uniform. Instead, they wore stiff, pristine suits with white shirts under black vests, red ties tucked underneath. Like butlers. 

Three made their way over to the filled bath and one walked over to Lafayette. "Disrobe," he said bluntly, formally. Lafayette looked at him for a moment. They were obviously going to bathe them, that much was clear, not like they could wash very well themselves, with a beat up body and nauseating pain. 

"Normally, we would do much more to you, certainly much more than a mere five lashes," Samuel had said begrudgingly, displaying a whip in his hands. "However, the King has ordered us to not leave too much scars. To keep you looking pretty." That sentence had made their stomach churn. Why would the leader, they refused to call him "king", possibly want them looking  _pretty_ ? They supposed they had gotten off easy, but the wounds they had acquired still were twisting their body with pain.

Lafayette started to stand and winced, slowly bringing themselves up to stand. They were holding onto the chair for support, and once straightening up, they nearly fell over from not standing for days. The man seemed to be expecting it and moved to catch them, looking rather bored. Lafayette's face was still scrunched up in pain as they moved to removed what clothing they had. If they resisted it would just be painful. Their face was flushed slightly from embarrassment. The people just seemed to not care, though, and were rolling their sleeves up.

He slowly walked them to the tub, helping them get in. The water was warm and it was welcomed on their aching skin. They hissed when their back wounds hit the water, but continued easing themselves in. 

A pearly white jug was dipped under the water and gently poured on top their head, the warm water trailing down their head and neck. Four pairs of hands simultaneously began washing them, several different soaps being massaged into their skin. If the circumstances were different, this would have been quite relaxing. However, seeing that dried blood was getting washed off their back and pain was still rocketing through their system, it was most definitely not. 

They did their work quickly and efficiently. When they were done, Lafayette was pulled out of the bath and dried with fluffy, white towels. The water in the bath was now stained with old blood, coloring it pink. The color disturbingly matched the aroma in the air. A shirt was pulled over their head and pants on their legs, both dark grey and soft, before they lead them to the door, where agents took them, dragging their sore body to another room. 

"Enter," the voice said when they knocked. George. They opened the door and upon further instruction, left them alone with the leader in the room, this one even more extravagant than the baths. 

They made out an expensive bed and some fancy furniture, gold glinting everywhere, but their eyes were fixated on George. He was sitting on couch in the back of the room, legs crossed, holding a saucer in one hand and a cup in the other, steam rising mystically out of it as he drank, eyes closed contentedly. He placed the cup on the saucer and opened his eyes, grinning, and set down the china on the small table next to the chair with a small clank. 

"According to my men, you've not made an escape attempt," he said pointedly. He was still smiling and he cocked his head slightly, like a child asking an innocent question. "Why?" Lafayette's breaths were short and pained as they stood on the cream carpet. 

"It wouldn't have made a difference," they said, wording carefully. George chuckled slightly. 

"Oh, it would have. You know that, don't you? I know you do. It would have made things worse.  _Much_ worse." He stood up and leisurely walked over to Lafayette. They took a step back reflectively. George stopped when they flinched and smiled, shaking his head and tutting, as if scolding them for taking the last cookie from the jar. He took another step. This time, Lafayette didn't move. 

"We know where your friends are, now," he said, slowly beginning to walk around them. Lafayette's heart skipped a beat. "We could attack at any time." He was behind them now. And they were nervous. Extremely nervous. They suddenly felt breath on their ear. "All I need to do is say the word," he breathed. He continued pacing. 

He was silent for a moment, his steady breaths against Lafayette's frantic ones. "How paranoid are you? What would you do to protect your precious friends?" he asked. He was on the other side now. "I'm willing to guess that you would throw away your freedom just for them," he breathed ominously. 

Lafayette swallowed, staring straight ahead. George came into their view again. "What are you willing to do?" he asked. Lafayette felt their heart hammering against their chest, could hear it pounding, a heavy bass drum in their ears. Their eyes were wide. 

"Quoi que ce soit," Lafayette whispered quietly, ghostly, closing their eyes. George leaned in close to their face. 

"What was that, love?" he said. They tried to ignore the name as they opened their eyes, staring directly into his, the brown iris's slashed with bloody red. 

"Anything," they said clearly, confidently. He chuckled again and leaned back. 

"Anything?" he droned out. They nodded, still staring into his eyes. "Well," he said finally. One hand reached over to the other and smoothly slipped off the white glove on it, and repeating for the other. He folded the fabric neatly and placed it in his pocket. He reached up to his tie and tugged at it, loosening it slowly. "Please, move over there," he said with mock politeness, pointing at the bed before continuing. 

Lafayette knew what he was getting at. They had expected it. Slowly, as if it would prevent what was to come, they walked to the bed and stood by it, hands trembling. George shrugged off his jacket, the red, fancy cloth revealing a plain, white collared shirt underneath, to which he started unbuttoning.

They squeezed their eyes shut, muttering a string of scared French underneath their breath. Their heart was beating hurriedly against their skin, like the thrum of a hummingbirds wings. 

They jumped, gasping, when a hand pulled at their shirt. They did not open their eyes. It was pulled off their torso and their pants were tugged down. 

Feeling the overwhelming urge to cry, they resisted, hyperventilating shakily, chest rising and falling rapidly. "Open your eyes," he said lowly. Reluctantly, they complied, eyelids fluttering from their quavering. George's face stared back, his smile like a plague. Lafayette's scattered heartbeat echoed. 

He took a step forward and whispered in their ear, two words, two very small words, which sent Lafayette tumbling over the edge. They made a wounded sound, a strangled, broken noise, and a wave of tears flooded over their eyes as they choked out the shuddery sob.

"You're mine," he had murmured.

And then a large, frigid hand was on their chest, pushing them onto the bed. Pushing them into hell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, they'll be rescued soon! I promise!


	6. Office Battle

"We have found the location of the Kings Army." With that sentence from Washington, five things happened in the meeting room that led to mass chaos.

First, murmurs broke out.

Second, Jefferson leaned over and mumbled something into Hamilton's ear.

Third, Hamilton and Jefferson started a full out shouting contest, standing up at the table, slamming down their fists.

Fourth, Alex's partners started defending him and Thomas's partner, James Madison, did the same for Jefferson. 

Fifth, everyone picked a side and a bloodbath with words began. 

Washington sighed from his position at the head of the table. Alex and Jefferson looked about ready to strangle each other, and they probably would, if it weren't for their partners holding them back. 

Eliza and Peggy are trying to calm their sister down as she screams at Jefferson, and then Hamilton, and then at the whole room altogether, which gets them to shut up, cause who isn't scared of Angelica? 

Lafayette, Washington suddenly thinks. Lafayette wasn't scared of Angelica, they never were. They were always like best friends. Actually, them and all of the Schuyler sisters were incredibly close. His eyes, already half lidded, droop close from the thought of Lafayette, burying his face in a palm, massaging his aching head, a migraine throbbing in his skull.

"As I was saying," Washington says, looking back up. "We have found the location of the Kings Army." Thankfully, no one freaks out this time. "I have called you all here because you are the head agents, all very bright, despite certain opinions, and would like to ask for your advice in an  _orderly_ fashion." 

Thomas and Alex both stand up at once, both faces red from yelling. Hamilton is breathing hard, trying hard, quite obviously, to calm down. Jefferson looks calmer, albeit, only by a little. Best to give Alex a bit of time to cool off. "Thomas, why don't you begin," Washington instructed. A superior grin spreads across Jefferson's face whilst a scowl splinters across Alex's.

"We need to attack immediately," he says bluntly. Alex snorts, causing Jefferson's face to furrow. "If we know their location, there is an extremely high possibility they know where we are. We need to strike quickly before they ambush us. They very well could any second."

"Why wouldn't they have attacked already?" Washington questions. 

"Several reasons," Thomas counters coolly. "First and foremost, Lafayette." The room is dead silent. Alex looks rather scared, face pale, chest visibly rising and falling. "I don't believe I need to explain that." He really didn't. Everyone knew what he meant. Lafayette was doing something to prevent the Kings Army from attacking. No one really wanted to think about what that something was. 

"Jefferson, is that really plausible?" Washington asks.

"You know as well as I do that it is. I believe we've had this conversation before, sir." 

"Sir, it's not plausible at all!" Alex cuts in. Washington opens his mouth, but Alex interrupts. "It's not possible and we're too fragile from the last fight against the Kings Army. We cannot attempt to fight them again, not after what happened last time." John and Hercules, Washington notices, look dubious about this reasoning. 

"Did you forget Lafayette?" Jefferson suddenly asks.

"No, I haven't forgotten. Perhaps you have; Lafayette is dead." Alex's eyes are narrowed furiously. 

"You don't know that. And if they are, which they're not, it's your fault," Jefferson replies.

"They're dead," Alex says. Jefferson seems to have not heard him.

"You avoided trouble with your writing before, but good luck doing that once we discover Lafayette is alive."

"Lafayette is dead," Alex repeats slowly through gritted teeth.

"It's almost like you want them to be," Jefferson says in disbelief, causing stiff gasps around the room. Alex's eyes widen and he opened his mouth, but no sound comes out. He blinks. Once, twice. Everyone is silent. Finally, he speaks. 

"How could you even think that?" he asks. His voice cracks as he talks and he looks close to tears, eyebrows tilted up in shock.

"Because maybe it's true," Thomas says, kicking him when he's down. Alex is once again rendered speechless. That's new, Washington thinks. George clears his throat, cutting through the thick tension in the room. 

"Does anyone else have anything to say?" he asks firmly. 

"I agree with Jefferson." Thomas's jaw drops once he looks at the speaker. Angelica smirks. 

"What?" Thomas croaks. 

"You heard me." She directs her gaze to Washington. "Sir, Jefferson is right. We need to attack before they strike us. If we attack, some may die. If they do, there will be a massacre. And if his prediction about Lafayette is true, which it probably is, we need to save them. They would do the same for any of us. However cheesy that sounds, it's true." And just like that, the entirety of the room sided with Jefferson. Alex licked his lips. 

"Fine. Sir, I believe we should go along with Jefferson's idea," he spat begrudgingly. "However, that doesn't change the facts. Lafayette is dead."

"Why are you so set on this?" Jefferson reasons. "Is it because you just can't be wrong?" Then, he smirks sinisterly. "Is it because you don't want to be abandon, just like Lafayette?" he asks sweetly.

Washington stood up, stopping anything else from happening. 

"Enough! If no one else has anything to say, than I believe that we are done." No one spoke. "Alright then," he says, promptly turning and walking out the door. For a moment after, there was a stiff silence, shortly followed by talking and shuffling, everyone leaving the meeting room. 

And there stood Alex. John and Hercules had left, not too happy with Alexander. His shoulders slumped. He looked shell shocked. Sad. Alone. 

Abandoned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to everyone who leaves kudos! If you haven't figure it out already, this chapter is based off of Cabinet Battle #2.


	7. Hit Em' Quick, Get Out Fast

We are all little birds, flying around in the air, wings flapping freely. One of my wings, Lafayette realizes, has been broken. Up above in the sky, three other birds searched helplessly for them, unaware that the fourth was on the ground. One of them had watched them as they fell. He had flown away. 

Lafayette doesn't know how long they've been here. Everything is a blur comprised of pain and silken bedsheets. They loathe those bedsheets, creamy white and silky. They also hate George. They doubt they've ever despised someone as much as him.

They're in the cell.They're time here is rotated between that horrid room and the cell. The cell is much more desirable than the other. Samuel is grinning at him. They hate Samuel, too. In fact, they hate everybody in this facility. 

When their fist collided with George's face, it had pleased them to no end. That satisfying cry of surprised pain was spectacular, and the blood that dripped from the gash on his cheek made Lafayette eternally proud. Even now, staring face to face with a furious, terrifying George, helpless and chained, they were sure that it was completely worth it. 

After Lafayette's "little outburst", George had yelped in pain, surprised. Men had stormed into the room, punching Lafayette in the stomach, making them double over, before cuffing them and dragging them away. A moment ago, George had stepped into the cell with Sam, who remained by the door, still staring at them with that sickening grin. 

George's cheek had turned a sickly shade of purple with blue hues, the bruise large and spreading. They had hit him hard. "That was very naughty of you," he scolded, like Lafayette was five years old. However, his teeth were gritted, like he was struggling to keep his cool.

"Not as naughty as what you've been doing," they responded truthfully. George's eyes narrowed. 

"I disagree," he said, voice high strung, eyes narrowed. "I believe I have been utterly merciful." A knife was held in his hand and he raised it, twirling the weapon, the hilt encrusted with jewels, reflecting the light ominously. George and the dagger were a stark difference to the dank cell, all fancy and expensive, compared to the blood stained floor and old stone bricks. Actually, now that they thought about it, despite the difference, George fit in perfectly with the backdrop. 

He walked up to Lafayette and raised a hand. They flinched back, but George simply grabbed their face with his free hand, forcing them to look directly at his cold eyes. His hand was soft, but his grip was hard. They had become all too acquainted with these facts in the bedroom, against their will, head slammed down on soft pillows, a hand entangled through their hair. They remembered the feeling, that sick hole in the pit of their stomach, revolted. And the pain, so much pain, mixed with so much disgust. He was rough and, despite what he said, he was merciless.

"Perhaps I should stop being so kind, hm?" he said softly. Lafayette's heart dropped right through the floor, hitting rock bottom. They knew exactly what he meant. He was threatening to attack the Revolutionaries. 

"S'il vous plait, non," they hurriedly whispered without thinking. 

"English," he drawled. 

"No," they whispered, eyes obviously showing their newfound terror. "Please, no." George stared at them for a moment before the edges of his lips tugged upwards, smiling victoriously. 

"That's what I thought," he droned, letting go of Lafayette with a flick of his wrist, pushing their head slightly. Although George let go, he didn't step away.

Their heart started to rise a little.

Suddenly, his arm moved upwards like lightning, the dagger glinting, light against cold steel, jewels sparkling. Unlike in the movies, nothing was in slow motion. Lafayette had no time to think before the knife was plunged deep in their chest. They gasped. Everything was still. Their heart sunk right back down, crashing through rock bottom, sinking into hell.

Lafayette stared, shocked. They felt pain, but it didn't register. George dragged the knife downwards, slowly, steadily, through thick muscle, in a diagonal slant, all the way down to their stomach, finally pulling out the knife above their waistline. Blood seeped out of the slice, pouring onto the floor in a red waterfall, making a crimson puddle. Samuel was still smiling, just as Lafayette was still just staring.

They spluttered, blood coming up, dripping out of their mouth. The coppery taste was vivid and too familiar. And then the pain registered. 

It was like an explosion, erupting from the wound in a tsunami, the wave knocking them into an ocean of pain. Lafayette went limp, arms going slack, being held up solely by the chains. Their vision blurred, red consuming it. Then, their head was jerked upwards. Two dark holes stared back, reflecting blood and death. Tight lips were sneering across his face. "I'm done being merciful," George spat, letting go, their head dropping with a jolt, once again staring at the pool of their own blood. 

Lafayette heard something; a slam followed by a shout. Then, a shrill, British cry and alarms. Another slam. The ringing in their ears was loud and overpowering, attempting to block everything else out. Alarms were still sounding, loud and piercing. They heard more yelling. What is happening? they wondered. I'm dying, they realized. That is what's happening. 

Their eyes were closed as they took in empty gasps, short and hallow. They coughed again, unable to catch their breath as they choked on blood. They coughed more, raspy, with wet, fresh blood splashing onto the floor into the puddle. Their breathing calmed to shallow breaths, roaring heartbeat slowing in their ears. 

Sounds still enacted, loud bangs of guns and shrieks of pain, but everything seemed oddly quiet, despite the noise. They attempted to open their eyes, but they did nothing but flutter slightly like a butterfly. They shivered, cold. Freezing, in fact. 

Their breath was shaky, each one wracked with tremors and a deafening pound of the heart, the hammer reluctantly still beating in their chest. Lafayette was choking again, but they had no energy to cough. Instead, wheezing puffs of air mixed with blood made themselves known.

More gunshots. More yelling. More unsteady beating of their heart. Why wouldn't it just stop already? they thought. Mon Dieu, please, just let me die, they pleaded. Just let my slowing heart rest. 

Another slam. A sharp gasp. A yell. "Lafayette!"

Funny. That sounded exactly like John. Was it John? No, it couldn't be. "Oh my God." Lafayette almost laughed it was so hilarious. Because that voice was just like Hercules's. 

They tried to open their eyes. It was red. They moved them upwards, craning their neck to see. Blurry pictures came into view. Faces, all fuzzy and soft around the edges. They couldn't make out the features, everything was swirled together like paint on a canvas. "Lafayette," said the John voice. 

Lafayette swore that they smiled. "Funny," they slurred, using all their strength. "You sound just like John." 

And then their head went slack and everything was enveloped by the night, except for the echoing shouts in their head of the voices that sounded like their beloved partners. 

The voices couldn't be them, though. 

They just couldn't be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, they're rescued. Thanks to everyone who leaves kudos!


	8. Aftershock

While it would be really lovely to say that Lafayette woke up nice and peacefully, warm with happiness, feeling amazing, that would not be true. It also would be nice to say that they didn't wake up panicking, in a cold sweat, pain wracking their body, screaming in absolute fear; however, that too would be a complete and utter lie.

They thrashed around like a wounded stallion, screams ringing through the air. In an instant, people surrounded them, trying to calm them. It took Lafayette a minute to realize that they weren't in danger and that they were, in fact, at the medical facility in the Revolutionary Base. 

No, that couldn't be right. They blinked. They blinked again. But no, here they are, lying on a white bed, doctors and nurses surrounding them with loud, bustling noises. They were breathing heavily, they realized, but they couldn't slow their panicked breaths. Something flooded through their system, muffling their thoughts, almost instantly making them tired. Hands were all around them, gently pushing them down gently. They fell back onto the bed. 

Lafayette's eyes groggily moved around the room, everything white and grey, people flickering around. They looked down at their body, half covered in a sky blue blanket. Their arms were lying on top of the cover and several tubes were connected to one, the other was bare.

Black and blue bruises were on both of their wrists, dark lines in the shape of handprints striping their fragile skin. They stared steadily at the bruises, everything else dulling around them to fuzzy pictures and static, white noise. They were just the background in the photo and the bruises were the main focus, sharp and vivid. 

Breaths were slowing in their ears from whatever drug they were on. Probably morphine. They close their eyes softly. Maybe that would make them wake up from this airy dream.

It did no such thing, instead, their wrists burned an image into their mind.

Although they were lying down, high on painkillers and whatever else was in those tubes, Lafayette definitely didn't feel relaxed. Quite the opposite, in fact. Their whole body felt tense, on edge. A part of them was still convinced that this was all just a dream, that they were going to wake up at any second. But they never did.

Lafayette was sure that George was going to wrap his hands around their wrists again, pinning them to that bed just like before. They squirmed on the bed, whimpering pathetically. They could feel George on top of them, pushing into them, tearing their flesh. A hand touched them and they flinched harshly, eyes crinkling, squeezing together. However, the hand simply stroked their arm soothingly. Was that George?

No, it couldn't be. It was much too textured, nothing like George's stupidly soft hands. How they were so strong with such baby hands, Lafayette had no idea.

Despite this, their body still twisted on the bed. Another hand was then on their forehead and they winced again, but it was so... calming

The texture was so familiar, so _right_. It felt so nice, so comforting. Their body relaxed, melting into the warm bed. The mattress was soft and plush, but it was nothing like the other awful bed they spent so much time on. 

Another hand touched their same arm, this one rougher than the first but just as familiar and right. And it felt so gentle against their abused skin. However, they couldn't shake those unsettling thought from their head. They were terrified to open their eyes. 

If they did, George's face was sure to be looking down, his pure white teeth glinting in the light. Another part of them said go ahead, nothing you haven't seen before, and they knew for a fact that those were not his hands. Plus, there were two sets of them. It smelled, that was another thing. It wasn't a bad smell, no, certainly not. Quite the opposite. It was an absolutely amazing smell, two aromas mixing together brilliantly. And it smelled nothing of a hideously sweet, fake floral scent.

So, with two conflicting voices in their head, they opened their eyes.

 

 

After those screams blared out in the air, John and Hercules had ran to that room faster than the screams could be stopped. They had burst through the door, panting, only to have doctors push them back, saying that they needed to wait. 

"Goddamn waiting!" Hercules had cried. "We've been waiting a week for them to wake up, we're not about to wait anymore!" Lafayette, noticed John while Hercules was chatting rather viciously with a doctor, was once again lying down on the bed, chest rising and falling in a panic, but looking rather drowsy, drugs dousing the wild flame in their eyes.

Their eyes seemed to drift in and out of focus, slowly scanning the room before settling on one of their arms, head tilted slightly on the pillow to look at their arm. They looked pained, face tinged with hopelessness and maybe disbelief. 

He stared. He didn't mean to, he really didn't, but he couldn't help it. There they were, after so long, lying on a bed. Injured and helpless. It made John want to cry. And he had, oh, he had. Bucketfuls. He tried to restrain himself. No, he would not start crying. Not now, not when he was about to talk to Lafayette after months. He felt tears welling up in his eyes. No, he chastised, stop that. Someone nudged him.

John ripped his gaze away from Lafayette. Hercules looked down at him. "I got permission for us to go see them," he said, smiling. It was possibly the saddest smile he had ever seen. John glanced at the doctor Herc was talking to. The man nodded to confirm his statement. He must have taken pity on them. Or he might have been intimidated by Hercules.

John suddenly grabbed Herc's hand, gripping it tightly. Hercules didn't say anything. He just squeezed back, intertwining his fingers with John's.

Slowly, they began walking towards the bed behind the doctor, who shooed nurses away and left without a word, only a polite, stiff nod and a tight, strained smile, which was completely fake. The other side of the room had a bed and medical supplies and such, but the mattress was bare and everyone had left. So they were alone in the room with Lafayette. John stopped abruptly.

Something wet slid down John's cheek. Shit. I'm crying, he realized. He reached up with his hand and wiped away the tear, but not fast enough, because Hercules noticed. He reached down and gently caressed John's face with his thumb, wiping away the remainder of the water. He gave a reassuring smile before continuing to walk up to the bed, John in tow. 

He stepped up to the side of the bed, where Lafayette's free arm was. Hercules sat in one of the chairs and John sat down next to him.  

Tentatively, he reached out, his arm faltering, biting his lip and hesitating before continuing. His hand touched Lafayette's arm. 

They flinched back harshly, wriggling on the mattress, as if trying to get away, causing another tear to slide down his face. Untangling their hand from Herc's, they reflexively reached up to Lafayette's head, stroking their forehead, swiping back their hair, attempting to calm them, to ease their pain. Hercules placed a hand on Lafayette's forearm, gingerly stroking the skin, dark bruises lining their skin. His fingers swept over each one tenderly, barely touched them, lingering just enough for Lafayette to feel the loving touch. 

Their eyes were scrunched up, their body tense, but the stress was slowly released until they were relaxed on the pillow. Their eyes were still closed, but the eyelids were wavering, as if they were debating what to do with them. 

Dark eyelashes fluttered and eyelids lifted, beautiful dark brown eyes staring. I must look like a mess, John realized. Tears streaked down his face, eyes red and puffy. That thought was quickly pushed aside, though, for their lips parted a bit, dazedly looking up at John and Hercules. 

Hercules's eyes were welling up, too, and he looked shocked, mouth dropped slightly, like he couldn't believe they were real. To be honest, neither could John. He released his hand from their forehead, watching them intently. The two debated whether or not they should talk before Lafayette in their heads, but a quick glance was was an unspoken agreement not to. Best give them the time they need. After all, they must be feeling a hundred times more worse and overwhelmed than the two boys were.

A small whimper was pulled from the back of Lafayette's throat, and Hercules couldn't help but think that they sounded like a small, hurt puppy. They opened their mouth, again attempting to speak. John and Herc knew they weren't completely lucid, far from it, but they were not about to pass up an opportunity to talk with Lafayette. 

"Are you real?" Lafayette mumbled, lips barely opening, eyes slowly closing before opening again in a lazy blink. More tears spilled down John's face and Hercules drew in a sharp intake of breath, looking taken aback, and one, fat drop slid down his cheek. 

"Yes." The sound was finally released from John's throat in a choking sort of way. "Yes, I swear to you, Laf, we are real."

" _This_ is real," Hercules said firmly. Lafayette looked dubious, in a glazed sort of way. Their eyes closed again. 

"Maybe it's all a dream," they murmured, accent purring heavily. The corners of their lips crooked upwards into a tiny smile. "It is a very nice dream." 

An odd strangled noise was wrenched from John, a result of their sobbing, trying to keep it silent. He pulled back his other hand like he was burned. Hercules grabbed one of his hands again and held it firmly. "This is not a dream, Lafayette." Carefully, he laced his hand over Lafayette's. Their fingers were still limp. "This is not a dream," he repeated. "We are here with you, _you_ are here. You're safe now, I promise. And I swear, no one will harm you again. Not as long as we're around." 

Then, ever so slowly, Lafayette curled their fingers around Hercules's hand. The grip was small and meek, but it was enough for all of them. They opened their eyes. "Please," they whispered. "Don't go."

"We won't," John said immediately. "Never again, Lafayette. Never again will we leave."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any questions? Comments? Concerns? Let me know in the comments, if so! Thanks so much for all of the kudos!


	9. That Would Be Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, Alex told everyone the truth about Lafayette a month after they were captured. About one month later, they found the location of the Kings Army. Approximately one week after, they attacked them. So, all in all, Lafayette was prisoner for about two months. They were unconscious for a week and they have been awake for one week. Everyones been mad at Alex for three weeks. (Since the meeting.)

Eliza was the pretty much the only one who didn't hate Alex. Not to say that she wasn't mad. She was more than a little cross with Alex. But at least she actually listened and tried to help him. 

"Alex, you need to show everyone that you're sincere. I know that you're sorry, God, I've listened to you talk about how much you regret anything enough. You just need to let them know that," Eliza said from her side of the small table for two, Alex at the other side. His lunch is untouched, despite it being lunch break, face propped up on his hand, elbow resting on the table. 

"You think I haven't tried?" he asked exasperatedly. "They've made it pretty clear that they don't want to hear anything I have to say," he sighed. She smiles sympathetically, but its tight and strained with pursed lips. 

"They just need some space. Do you think you can give them that?" Alex sighs again. He's been doing that a lot lately. He sinks further into his hand until he's slumped over on the table, head resting on his arm, face pathetic. 

"Does this mean you need some space, too?" he mumbles, eyes tilted upwards unsurely. She bites her lip.

"I-" she starts, eyes refusing to meet his. "Alexander, I think we all just need some time. Can you please just give me that?" she asks, eyes finally meeting his. He nods, head awkwardly hitting his arm. He sits up, running a hand through his hair, gaze on his food. "I'm going to get more coffee, I'll be back in a moment," Eliza announces, standing up and promptly walking over to the coffee machine. It was a definite excuse if Alex ever saw one. 

He picked at his food for a moment before he stopped lying to himself and pushed it away. He let out a huff of air. (He refused to acknowledge it as a sigh.)

"Well, well, well," a voice pronounced. Great, Alex thought. The day just got  _so_ much better. He turned around, not even bothering to put on a fake smile. He wasn't worth it. 

"Charles," Alex deadpanned. The man scoffed.

"I would prefer if you'd call me  _'sir,_ " Charles said, smirk played out. 

"I only call people who I respect sir, Lee," Alex said. Charles smile disappeared. 

"So," he said curtly. "How's Lafayette?" Alex's jaw clenched.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked. "Last I recall, you were badmouthing them for coming out. Which, by the way, was  _years_ ago." 

"Oh, I'm simply curious. Funny, really. Last I recall, you were saying _he_  was dead." He was smiling again. 

Alex didn't mean to. He really didn't. But one minute, he was staring at Lee's smug face, and the next minute Alex's fist was colliding with his face. Not because of what he said about Alex. No. Because he referred to them as a  _he._  

So he hit them again, a crowd gathering, gasping. And again. Until someone pulled them away with strong arms. It was a familiar feeling, though it shouldn't be; getting held back from a fight. Blood was pouring out of Lee's nose, which was crooked in a way that was probably considered broken.

"What da hell!" Lee shouted, straightening himself up, words slurred and crude from his nose. "You broke my nose!" he screeched. 

"Damn right I did!" Alex snarled, fighting against whoever was holding him. Whoever they were, they were obviously much stronger. "Take it back!" he yelled. 

"It's true!" Lee shouted back. 

"Not that! You called them a  _he!"_ Alex screamed. Realization broke out through the crowd.

"Calm down, Alexander," someone said firmly. Alex froze. 

Hercules. Hercules was holding them back. After not speaking to them for three weeks. He went limp. Someone was dragging Lee away and instead of talking furiously, like usual, Alex was still, letting himself be taken to Washington.

He was the student and Washington the principle, sitting meekly in front of the angry teacher.

"Alexander," Washington began. "What have I said about getting into fights?"

"That they're wrong and disrespectful," Alex mumbled, staring at the ground.

"Precisely," Washington said. "Now, tell me, what exactly did Lee do to provoke you?"

"He called Lafayette a he," Alex murmured, sneaking a glance upwards. Washington's face was hard to read. His brow was furrowed, but his eyes were filled with uncertainly. His lips were pursed tightly.

The metaphorical clock ticked by.

"Go visit Lafayette," he finally said. Alex's eyes widened. 

"Sir?"

"That is your consequence; go see Lafayette." 

"But, sir, I have seen them!"

"Yes, when they were unconscious. Almost everyday, if I remember correctly. Go now, Alexander, that is an order." Alex just stared. " **Go** ," Washington commanded sternly. 

Alex got up almost robotically, hurrying out the door and closing it before stopping to think. 

His brain was buzzing in a haze, terrified. He was unable to think straight. One voice said to just run. That was what Alex liked to call "the cowards option." Alexander Hamilton was a lot of things, but he was not a coward. The other voice told him to listen to Washington. It was an order. He can't disobey direct orders.

Sluggishly, he began to drag his feet down the hall, walking by himself, talking to himself underneath his breath, planning what to say. It was a pitiful sight.

The walk was long from shuffling the length of the building the entire time, but he eventually found himself in the Medical Center. 

There was this squirming feeling in his stomach, making him feel immensely nauseated, and an inkling in the back of his mind. The nervousness gnawed at his worried frame until he couldn't stand it any more. 

 _Just tell them_ , Alex reasoned with himself. _J_ _ust tell them how sorry you are, how much you regret everything._ He suddenly was propelling himself to their room. No one stopped him. He assumed Washington had called and ordered them not to. 

He wasn't thinking for once, just acting, all but sprinting, pausing for a moment in front of the door, unsure of how he even got there. 

 _Come on, don't be a coward, just own up to it, they'll understand,_ he thought. _They need to understand. And what if they don't?_ another voice demanded. _They will_ , Alex persuaded. _They will. They just have to._

He opened the door. He stepped inside. Lafayette was on the bed, propped up on pillows, eyes open, half lidded, tiredly, very still, looking weak and frail. There was someone else, though. Standing beside the bed, tall and straight and pretentious as ever, was fucking Thomas Jefferson.

About to swiftly make his escape through the door, Jefferson turned around and stared right into his eyes. Alex froze. (Whilst saying "like a deer caught in headlights" would be completely cliche, it would also be completely accurate.)

Jefferson, much to Alex's surprise, did not sport a smirk when he saw Alex. He just looked... sad. That was almost scary to Alex. But it wasn't nearly as scary as Lafayette's chocolate eyes, now trained directly on him. Jefferson didn't hold a candle to that terrifying sensation. Another massive wave of nausea overcame him. It took all his will to not double over and vomit.

Lafayette's eyes flitted back to Thomas, expression still blank. They then drowsily drifted shut. Their lips then opened slightly. It was the first thing Alex heard them say since he had left them for dead. And it was, "Play nice." 

The voice was a ghost of a voice and the accent was heavy, but given the room's dead silence, it was easy to hear. Thomas looked back down at Lafayette, quickly muttering, "I'll give you two some time," and hightailing out of the room, closing the door as he fled.

It's quiet. He's never liked the quiet before. 

As he slowly stepped over to the bed, he found himself reciting prayers over and over in his head, pleading to God to please, _please_ _,_  just let them not hate me, just let them understand.

He prayed. That never used to happen before.

It was a familiar sight; Lafayette, eyes closed, lying on the bed. Washington was correct, Alex had visited them every day they were unconscious. He had talked to them over and over, saying that he sorry, begging for forgiveness. But now, staring down at that familiar sight, knowing full well that they were conscious, his mind was blank. Their eyes opened. There was a long, pregnant pause. 

"When John and Hercules first visited me," they said all of a sudden, "I was apparently very high on drugs and worried they were a dream." Another pause. "Even though I am much more lucid now, I am still quite drugged." They moved their arm with the tubes attached to prove it. "Please tell me you aren't a dream and won't disappear." Alex was not expecting that. 

"I'm not a dream. I won't disappear," he said mechanically.

"That's not very convincing," they murmured. 

"I know," Alex choked out. "But it's true, I swear." Lafayette simply let out a humming noise. Memories of Lafayette suddenly flipped through Alex's mind like a scrapbook.

Lafayette; singing loudly in the kitchen.

Lafayette; squealing happily when Alex got them those boots they were so excited about. 

Lafayette; ambushing Alex with a nerf gun at work, starting a full out war at the office. 

Lafayette; with their ever dramatic flair, gracefully dancing their way through life, hips swinging with ease, a cheshire cat grin fixated on their lips.

The Lafayette before him was nothing like that Lafayette. Alex couldn't help it. He sobbed, sinking down into the chair by the bed. 

"I'm so sorry," he said, voice breaking. Lafayette's eyes were wide. "I am so sorry." They opened their mouth, but Alex kept talking. "I know I don't deserve you, Lafayette. But hear me out; that would be enough." Laf looked like they were going to say something, but instead just nodded. 

"I left you. I left you to die and I regret that decision every day. When I met you, I swore I would never hurt you. You're far too precious for that. You're far too good for that. Yet, I have hurt you in ways I cannot even imagine. It's unimaginable what I have done to you. I don't expect you to forgive me." He wasn't lying. "I don't expect anyone to forgive me. I know there's no replacing what I've done, and you need time. 

But I'm not afraid. I know what I've done. I'm ready for the consequences. I don't deserve John or Hercules, and I especially don't deserve you, Lafayette. But just let me stay here by your side, just for a moment. Then you can send me away, you can be furious, you can hate me forever. But just please, _please_ know that I'm sorry. You don't need to forgive me. Hell, even I haven't forgiven me. Just remember me. That would be enough." 

Alex's face is soaking wet with tears by the time he's done. He babbled, he realized, pouring his heart out. He kept repeating and just going on and on in one breath, slurring words sloppily, but it was the truth. He gulps, his mouth dry, the swallow like sandpaper against his throat. 

"I don't hate you, Alexandre," Lafayette says. Alex's face almost comically falls into shock. "And I certainly will never forget you, for I don't have any plans to leave you."

Alex gaped. "B-but I-"

"Oui, you left me. And you broke my heart. If you had stayed, you could have saved me. We both know that. But I have tried to hate you, Alex, I have tried with all my heart. I have tried to place the blame on you, for everything they did to me. But I just can't do it." Lafayette's face looked pained, all of a sudden, remembering memories that would haunt them forever. Alex was still gawking. 

"Y-you're not mad?" he stuttered. 

"Non, I am mad, Alexandre." They sighed. "Not at you, though, in particular. I don't know what to feel about you. I am mad at George."

"Washington?" he asked incredulously. (Lafayette was the only person to call him George, for Lafayette was the only person Washington did not get mad at for calling him George.)

"Non, non, not Washington. The Kings Army's leader, George the Third." Alex mouthed an "oh" in realization. Lafayette's voice was threaded with pain and hate. "He did... things. Unspeakable things to me. Oh mon Dieu, il..." They suddenly looked quite sick and they were shaking. 

"Lafayette? Do you want me to get a doctor?" Alex asked worriedly. They did not answer, but they did keep talking. 

" _My God, his hands. His hands. They were so soft, so soft on my wrists, so soft..._ " They were babbling now, in rushed French, panicking and quavering, sitting up in bed. 

" _Lafayette, it's alright, I promise, you're safe,"_ Alex assured, but they continued their panic. 

" _No, no, he pinned me down, everything was so soft, but it hurt, everything hurt, everything hurts. I can't escape, he'll attack!"_

 _"Lafayette, look at me,"_ Alex said, standing up and sitting back down on the bed carefully. " _Look at me."_ He placed a hand on their shoulder. They flinched harshly, face jerking to look at him. He took his hand away, staring at their face. They were absolutely terrified. 

" _Count to ten for me, Lafayette. In English,"_ Alex said.

" _No, no! He'll kill you, he'll kill all of you, he'll keep me, he'll keep hurting me!"_

"English," Alex insisted. 

" _No, no!"_ they continued to whine. 

"English," he repeated. 

"E-English," they stumbled. 

"Yes, English. Count to ten, it's alright," he hushed, placing a gentle hand on their cheek. They were crying, as was he. 

"O-one," they stuttered. Alex nodded. 

"Good, keep going," he praised. 

"Two... three... four... five... six... seven... eight... nine... ten," they counted, tongue tripping over itself in their mouth. 

"That's it, that's it. You're safe, I promise," Alex crooned, caressing their cheek, wiping away the wet tears. More tears slid down their cheeks as they trembled, pushing into Alex's hand. Alex continued stroking comfortingly. 

"Oh, you sweet thing," Alex murmured, tears falling, as he watched Lafayette, quivering and sobbing, scars covering their skin from whips and knives and bullets, so fragile, so weak. Alex suddenly felt a great wave of hatred towards George the Third, as well as a tsunami of loathing towards himself. 

"What have I done to you?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of the awesome comments and kudos! Seriously, you all are so awesome.  
> Sorry, btw, for taking a while to update. My glasses broke the other day and I've been dealing with a MASSIVE headache while I wait for another frame.


	10. The Fact That You're Alive is a Miracle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG TO UPDATE. HERE YOU GO. (FINALLY.)

Lafayette was trembling like an earthquake, Alexander holding firmly to them. He ran his hands through their hair, shushing them, wiping away their tears, letting his own fall freely down his face. They were sobbing quite violently, large tremors running through their body, their cries echoing around the room. 

That was how John and Hercules found them. Alex didn't notice, and Lafayette certainly didn't.

They could still feel those hands, still feel those silk sheets. They kept needing to convince themselves that they were in Alex's arms, safe. It didn't seem to help, they just continued to cry. 

John and Hercules just stood there, watching the scene play out before them. In their minds, it was a play written by the devil. It was a sin, not a tragedy. 

None of them knew how long they stayed like that. At one point, Lafayette had realized they were standing there and waved them over, tears drying on their face, still being held by Alex, eyes red and puffy. Alex turned his head to look. His eyes, which matched Lafayette's, widened, but he didn't say a word. 

The two walked over to the other duo and sat down on the bed, joining the hug. They were all squashed together, the bed was really quite small, but they didn't care. 

Lafayette had fallen back onto the pillows and they had all followed in suit, huddled together, cuddling and holding each other so that no one would fall off the mattress. 

This was the best Lafayette had felt in a long time.

This was the best Alex had felt in a long time.

This was the best Hercules had felt in a long time.

This was the best John had felt in a long time.

This was the best any of them had felt in a long time. 

 

When Alex woke, he was in a tangle of limbs, quite warm and comfortable, but in a desperate need to get up and stretch. He squirmed a bit, but the limbs were dead weights on his body. He lifted his head up a bit, which was resting on Lafayette's left shoulder. 

To Alex's left was John, holding on tightly to Alex and Lafayette and to Lafayette's right was Hercules, who's long arms were stretched out over them, doing the same as John. 

There was absolutely no way he was getting out of this without waking someone up. Carefully, he untangled himself from the three bodies and sat up slowly. 

Beside him, someone shifted and sighed. He froze and his eyes flickered over to John, whose eyes were lazily drifting open. He yawned, his freckled face stretching wide. 

"Morning," he mumbled sleepily. Alex smiled a little. 

"I think it's evening, actually." John turned his head to look at the clock above the doorway. It was 5:46. 

"Huh. So it is." John settled his head back into the pillow. "Lie back down," he said. 

"I don't know, it's pretty late, and you and Herc probably don't want to see me, and Lafayette..." Alex rambled until John interrupted. 

"Shh, lie back down," he commanded, reaching his arm around Alex and pushing on his chest until he fell back down. John, content, snuggled back into his side happily, closing his eyes. Alex tried to relax again in John's warm embrace. "You think they'll be okay?" John muttered. Alex turned his head to look at him, their faces close, noses almost touching. Alex's eyes were wide and John's were still closed. 

Alex didn't need to ask to know what he meant, but he did anyways. "What?" he croaked. 

"Lafayette," he said, eyes blinking open, staring into Alex's. "Do you think they'll ever be okay?" 

Alex didn't say anything for a long while. "I don't know," he finally let out. From the side of him John wasn't on, Alex could feel Lafayette, breathing steadily. They were warm and soft and ever so breakable. Like a kitten. A sad, lost, broken little kitten. 

John hummed and shut his eyes. "Me too," he agreed. Alex chewed his bottom lip. 

"When will Lafayette be able to come home?" Alex asked suddenly. John's eyes flew open. "They've been gone so long. How longer do we have to wait?" John noticed that Alex said "we" instead of "they" when he spoke. 

"I'm not sure. Hopefully soon," John said. "Most of their wounds are healed, but they had a lot of internal damage." John looked sad all of a sudden. "The cut was huge, Alex," John whispered. "That fact that they're alive is a miracle. There was so much blood..." he trailed off. Alex hadn't been there when John and Hercules found Lafayette. He had seen them on a stretcher when they were getting them out, though. 

John was right. There had been so much blood. "When we visited Laf," John said, "they often talked of what happened when they were captive. They said that they had gotten off easy, that they didn't scar them up too much. They said they wished they had. They said that they would have much prefered that to what actually happened." Alex didn't say anything. "You do know what happened, don't you?" John asked.

Alex nodded, voice stuck in his throat. "Before you left..." Alex choked out, "they were panicking because of it. That's why they were crying. I think they were having panic attack."

"What were they saying?" he asked quietly. 

"They kept saying that his hands were so soft on their wrists... like they could still feel them. They said he would kill us and was repeating "no" over and over," Alex said slowly. John didn't seem to have a response to this. 

It was quiet for a moment, the sound of four breaths filling the space. "We should probably get going," Alex muttered, moving, but John placed a firm hand on him, keeping him down. 

"No one's come to get us," John said. "Stay. Just... stay. Just for one more a moment, let's just pretend everything is fine. Please," he begged. Alex nodded and settled back in. 

John exhaled calmingly through his nose. They remained silent after that. At some point, Alex fell asleep after John. It was peaceful, but, unlike before, not dreamless. 

Images kept floating through his mind, distorted and warped. Some were unsettling; bloody pictures of Lafayette running through his brain. Alex's face scrunched up as he slept, but he didn't wake. Until a gunshot echoed through his mind. 

He woke with a gasp. It was dark in the room, lights turned off, moonlight casting shadows from the window.

His eyes flitted around nervously before he relaxed with a huff, panting slightly, forehead coated with a sheen of sweat. 

Someone mumbled and squirmed beside him. He turned his head and the sleepy eyes of Lafayette stared back, the dim, blueish light reflecting on them, diamonds and stars sparkling in the depths. 

" 'allo," they breathed. 

"Hello," he said back, grinning in the night. Lafayette smiled. It was a weary, small smile, but a smile nonetheless. Lafayette didn't respond besides that. Instead, he continued staring at Alex, their face blissful. 

Alex leaned forward a bit and kissed their nose. Their smile grew ever so slightly. So did Alex's. He kissed them again, this time on the cheek. And again, on the other cheek. 

He peppered their face with small kisses, the touches like butterflies pecking their dark skin. His lips are chapped but soft as he kisses them. Lafayette lets out a giggle. 

"I've missed that," Alex said, stopping his shower of kisses.

"Hm?" they questioned, face confused.

"You're laugh," he explained simply. "I missed it. I missed everything about you." Lafayette didn't know what to say to this. So they giggled some more. It felt good to laugh, good to smile, again. They've missed it too, they realize.

"Stop talkin'," someone, (Hercules), grumbles. Lafayette giggles some more. 

From behind Alex, John pokes his head up to look at Laf, apparently now wide awake. 

"What are we whispering about?" John whispers loudly. They keep giggling. John's grin is spread wide across his face and he all but flops down over Alexander to kiss Laf on the forehead, making Alex grunt loudly in surprise. 

From behind Lafayette, Hercules continues to grumble like a bear, but he cuddles into Lafayette and kisses the back of their head. He's a very nice bear.

That also feels good, Lafayette thinks. To be kissed like this. Soft and sweet and loving. John is still lying on top of Alex, who is attempting to shrug him off very pathetically. John just seems amused and lets his whole body weight drop on Alex, who squeaks in surprise. 

They keep giggling, which turns into a full blown laugh. Their chest hurts when they laugh, but they find that they couldn't care less. Because they feel so free, so loved, in this moment. 

In this moment, nothing is wrong. In this moment, Lafayette didn't almost die, and Alex isn't overrun by guilt mixed with a burning hatred for himself and George the Third.

Everything is okay right now. And in this moment, they all believe that everything will be. 


	11. The President

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating! I've been traveling; first to Chicago then St. Louis. I got quite violently sick on the trip, but I'm back now, so I should be updating more. Thanks for sticking with me!

 

Alexander opened the door to the President (of the Revolutionary's) office with a bang. Washington looked up, startled. 

"Alexander?"

"Sir, is there any possible way I would be able to schedule a time with George the Third?" Alex said hurriedly. He looked disheveled, to put it nicely. His hair was a mess, pulled back into a sloppy ponytail, his suit was crumpled, the white collar around his neck was undone, and a tie looped around it very loosely. 

Washington's eyes narrowed quizzically in suspicion. "Alexander, George the Third is in the highest security holding cell in the American government, guarded by the best, and watched at all times. His location is strictly confidential." Alex nodded. 

"Yeah. So, can I see him?" he asked. "You can see him, right?" Washington sighed heavily. 

"I am the President of the elite, top secret branch of the FBI, who is responsible for securing him and rest of the Kings Army. What do you think, son?"

"I'm guessing that's a yes. Which means you can get me in!" Alexander said excitedly. Washington opened his mouth as to speak, but closed it and just nodded his head in exasperation. Alex's eyes lit up. "Sir, I need to see him."

"For what Alexander?" Washington leaned over his desk, looking Alex straight in the eyes. "For revenge? You know as well as I do that you can't do that. His trial is next week, where he'll most likely be sentenced to death."

"I know, sir. But I do need revenge. So does Lafayette. You know that they deserve to at least punch him in the face!"

"Yes, Alex, and I fully intend to let Lafayette do so." (Washington was by far the best boss ever. It also helped that Lafayette was basically like his adopted child.) "But you, Alexander? I don't think so."

"But, sir..."

"My decision on this matter is final," he concluded. Alex looked crestfallen. 

"I understand, sir," he sighed. 

"Good." Washington straightened himself up. "Now, I trust you have a good reason for being here so late? And I presume so do Hercules and John?" Alex's eyes widened, and they skidded around the room. 

"Ah, yes, we do, sir. See, about that, I went to see Lafayette like you told me and then, and then Herc and John joined us, and we all just kind of... fell asleep." Alex looked back at Washington, and was pleasantly surprised to see that he was smiling warmly. 

"I know, Alexander." He reached into his pocket and showed Alex his phone. "I took photos," he said kindly, a picture of the four of them squashed together on the bed in a puppy pile illuminating the screen. Alex blushed. 

"I'm sorry, sir."

"It's quite alright, Alexander. Be sure John and Hercules know that it's fine. Now, you should probably get back to work. Angelica was furious last I saw," he said, the smile still fixed on his face. (Yeah. Washington was definitely best boss.)

"Thank you, sir," Alex said, before turning to exit. 

"Oh, and Alex?" Washington called. Alex turned his head around. 

"Yes, sir?"

"When Lafayette is released, I'm giving you three some much needed time off with Lafayette." Alex grinned widely. 

"Thank you," he said, sincerity heavy in his voice, eyes kind and warm; however, sadness swirled around in the depths. Washington pretended not to see it. Alex pretended not to feel it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this chapter is pretty short, but thanks for reading! I know where I want this story to go, but if you have any suggestions, please let me know in the comments! I would love to hear them.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100 kudos! Thank you, I love you all so much! Like, seriously, go get yourself some ice cream or something, you're amazing.

Scars were an interesting thing. They were like ghosts, white and frail, but always present, always a reminder of the past. 

Hercules had a large one on his back, stretched from the middle of his shoulder blades and cutting diagonal across his skin to the waist.

John had a gunshot scar on his chest, and so did Alexander. (Burr had actually shot him. Funny story.)

Before... all of this, Lafayette had gotten shot on their left calf, leaving a pretty big scar from the operation and wound itself. Of course now, they had more wounds adding to the undesirable collection. 

The cuts on their back were becoming thin and spindly, like a pale spiderweb against dark skin. One mark went all the way up to their neck, and would be visible no matter what they wore, peaking out of every shirt, reaching up to their hairline. The bullet wounds, while not completely healed, were getting there, and they all knew what that would look like. 

Several other small cuts lined their body, making small, white lines, but the slice taken out of their torso would be the largest, they all knew, from sheer size alone. 

Lafayette was hardly ever alone in their hospital bed. The scars kept them company. However, the scars were rarely alone. Someone was pretty much always there with Lafayette. Alex, John and Hercules were there nearly all the time, as to be expected, but when they really couldn't get away from work, someone else was there. 

Sometimes, Angelica came. Her visits either consisted of meaningful, deep conversations or pointless chatter, and obvious excuse to not talk about the situation at hand. 

When Eliza visited, they always felt better than before. She would sit and talk to them about how everything was going to be alright, and she was so convincing, so sincere, that Laf believed her. But other times, she just sat silently, holding their hand until they fell asleep, planting a soft kiss on their forehead sweetly. 

When Peggy visited, they often ended up watching a movie together. It was nice, just to cuddle, with a friend, laughing at films just like before. 

When James Madison visited, it was casual. It consisted of light hearted conversations, but he always treated them like he was stepping on eggshells. Thomas didn't, though. He seemed to get that it bothered him. 

Burr came, too, occasionally. It was... awkward. But it was nice to know he cared. 

But right now, Lafayette was alone. Just them and the scars. Until George Washington walked in. 

Now, there are a couple of things you need to know about Washington. One, Laf is like his own child. Two, they are most definitely his favorite. Three, he has been extremely busy. And four, this has certainly not stopped him in the slightest from seeing Laf. 

Lafayette was nearly asleep when Washington quietly stepped in the room, silently walking over to the bed and sitting down. They opened their eyes, a sleepy smile spreading across their face.

"Hello," they murmured in their tired voice.

"Hello," George replied. "How are you feeling?"

"Hm," they hummed. "Tired."

"Would you like to sleep? I could go."

"Non, non, George," they muttered. "Stay, please." 

"Alright," he said. A silence fell. It wasn't awkward, just nice and peaceful. 

"Remember when we first met?" Washington suddenly said. Laf opened their eyes. 

"Oui."

"I remember thinking that you were the single most ecstatic person in the world. You were so energetic and flirtatious. You kissed both my cheeks and winked at me." Laf grinned. 

"Did you think I was cute?" they asked deviously. George smiled lightly. 

"I suppose."

"George," they purred. "I'm telling Martha." He chuckled. 

"Well, she thinks you're adorable, so I don't know what difference it would make." They smiled more. "Anyways, you were always so flamboyant. Even after everything you had been through. After your parents, and everything else before you came to America. You were still always so happy. I thought, wow. This kid could go through anything and still be themselves. And then... this happened." 

They both looked solemn. Laf was looking down. So was George. 

"When I heard that you were dead... to be frank, I sobbed. I knew the risks of everyone working here. I knew that at any mission, someone could die. I just never believed that it would be you. Then those walls came crumbling down." He swallowed.

"Then, Alex came clean. And still, I thought you were dead. But then, I hoped. I prayed to God, to just let you be alive. I guess I was heard. And even now, my theory hasn't faltered. You're still yourself." They were quiet for a moment. 

"No I'm not," they said wistfully. 

"Yes, you are," he insisted. "You've been through everything, and yet, you're still here. You're still laughing, you're still smiling, you're still  _you._ It will take some time, but you will heal. I know you will. You'll have scars, yes, but they'll be a part of you." Silence.

"That's very poetic, George," they said. "Are you now going to confess your undying love?" they joked. 

"Not quite. But see that? Right there, you're still in there. And I do love you, Laf. Like my own child." They smiled softly.

"I love you, too, mon ami." They reached out their hand. Washington took it in his own, which was larger, and held the thin hand. It was cool and smooth, but not fragile. George knew they were not fragile. Lafayette was not made of glass. They were not about to break. They were strong. They were made of steel. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated!


	13. Note

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note.

Hi guys! Sorry for not updating. :/ I know you guys have been waiting  **forever** for an update, and I'm really sorry!!!!! I'm still updating, but it might be a while due to some personal trouble. Again, I'm so sorry!!!!! Thanks for sticking with me!


	14. What time is it? Showtime!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Backstreet Boys plays in the distance*  
> GUESS WHO'S BACK

 

The trial of George the Third was today, and Lafayette felt horrible. 

Their suit felt too tight, even though it was tailored, and incredible waves of nausea kept overtaking them. Lafayette had considered wearing makeup, but decided it simply wasn't worth it today. They still felt terrible. Truthfully, the only thing keeping them going was the thought that after so long, they could finally go home after the trial. 

The day passed by in a weary blur for Lafayette, filled with soft words and encouragement and praise, and then they were in the courtroom, with wood that was too shiny and people that were too polished. And then there was  _him._

George was led out in change when the court was called into session, guards heavily surrounding him. As he walked pass Lafayette, a killer grin spread across his face with too much teeth and his eyes brightened with a flash of starch light. He looked deranged. His eyes never left them. 

George was called up. 

Crimes were read aloud. "Sexual and physical assault..." George was still staring at Lafayette. "How do you plead?"

"Guilty," he said, his eyes finally moving. Lafayette's eyes widened. "I'll admit to these "crimes", and I have to say, I am proud of them," he said, smiling triumphantly. 

"That's enough," the judge started. 

"I even fucked that pretty thing over there," he said, lazily flicking his wrist towards Lafayette. Their eyes widened again and they clenched their jaw till it hurt. There were murmurs.

"Don't you forget," George said, clearly directed at Lafayette. "Don't you ever forget," he said. "That you belong to me," he hissed. The judge started to speak. George didn't care. "You'll be back!" he shouted. The gavel rang in the air. "You belong to me!" George had stood up. And then there were guns pointed at him in all directions. He smiled, spit on the ground, and jontilly sat back down.

There were shouts, there were whispers, there were bangs. Lafayette felt sick. And oh god, they could feel him again. They squeezed their eyes shut tightly

Order was called and finally gained. Another person in chains. An accomplice? A worker? Lafayette wasn't sure. They were only aware of the eyes on them, the soft hairs on the back of their neck prickling. Their skin felt horrid, like bugs were crawling underneath their clothes. They shifted slightly, swallowing. 

How much time had passed? Who knows. The man was being led away. And then Lafayette was called to the stand. 

They snapped back into reality as their name was announced, and they slowly got up, a guard escorting them to the stand. For security purposes, of course. 

Crimes were listed off again. "Sexual and physical assault..." Lafayette ignored George's eyes on them. They were asked if George committed them. Of course he did. 

"Yes," they said, stopping themselves from speaking in French. They found themselves looking for their partners in the crowd, trying to find their eyes. Only to find none. Of course. They weren't allowed to this trial. They had forgotten.

"Are you sure it was him?" he asked. What? they thought. Of course it was him! He had already confessed. Couldn't they just go home?

"Yes," they said again.

There were more idiotic questions, and then that was it. They sat back down.

More people, more questions, more talking. Everything was too loud. They still felt sick. 

"Guilty." Their head shot up. Guilty. The word rang in their head. He was found guilty.  _Thank God._

George was then screaming and shouting, people restraining him and yells echoing around. He was all but dragged away, kicking and screaming like a child who lost his toy. 

"You'll be back!" he shrieked, his eyes back on Lafayette. "You'll see! You belong to me!" He was hysterical. 

And then he was gone. They could still hear his distant screams. 

People were talking to them, but they couldn't really hear them. "Lafayette," someone said. Their head snapped up. It was George. George Washington.

He was then guiding Lafayette up, through the masses of people and into the hallway, his firm hand on their back. Three people practically jumped with joy at seeing them, rushing over to the two, their mouths all moving at a mile per minute.

They couldn't hear them, however. He could only hear George the Third's voice and a dull ringing that was slowly getting louder and louder. "You belong to me," he had said. 

"Lafayette?" said a familiar voice.

Lafayette forced his eyes to focus on the blurry masses in front of them, concerned eyes watching them. Alex, Hercules, John.

Lafayette tried to speak, but found that their voice caught in their throat. They were breathing heavily and they could almost feel something crawling on their neck. 

Everything suddenly became unfocused again and they felt incredibly dizzy. And then the nausea came again, hitting them like a ton of bricks. 

"Je'm va être malade," they muttered, before falling to their knees and retching till their stomach was empty. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone! Thank you so much for waiting, and I hope you enjoy!


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